Page 65 of Rewrite Our Story

He holds me by the back of the neck, angling my head to look back at him. “Do you really not know the answer to that question?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

His eyes soften as he looks at me with such a powerful look, it’s the first time I wonder if he may love me back. And not the kind of love that comes with growing up with someone. The kind of love that’s all consuming. The kind of love that’s like a brand to the soul, one that lingers in the deepest depths of your heart for the rest of your life. The kind that goes fromI love youtoI’minlove with you.

“It doesn’t feel right to say I want you,” he begins. My stomach plummets at his words, coldness washing over my body as I worry that this is him ending something we’ve barely begun.

He must sense the dread overtaking my body because he pulls me to the edge of the chair, and my legs wrap around his middle as our chests brush up against one another. “It doesn’t feel right to say I want you because it’s so much more than that. Saying I want you makes it seem like it’s just a choice. What I feel for you—how bad I need you—doesn’t just feel like a choice. It feels undeniable. Like fate.”

Cade leans in, trapping my lips between his before I can get out any kind of answer for him. It’s best that way, I was about to tell him that loving him never felt like a choice to me—it feels embedded in my soul. It just is. No choice, no accident. But that would’ve been me confessing I’ve fallen for him, and I don’t know if we’re ready for that yet.

Not for the first time, we let our bodies do the talking. Words don’t come as we get lost in the kiss in the middle of my childhood home’s tiny kitchen.

When my lips feel raw, our bodies finally parting slightly, a smile lifts both corners of my lips.

“Should we go to my room?”

34

CADE - AGE TWENTY-TWO

I haven’t seenMare’s room in years. The last time I saw it I’m pretty sure she still had silly boy band posters covering every inch of her walls. It wasn’t often that I even visited the cabin she shared with her father, let alone came up to her room in the loft.

Mare closes the door behind me, her bare feet stopping on a fluffy white rug next to her bed. She looks nervous to have me in her space. I’ve never thought about the fact that she’s been in my room so many times and probably could describe it in vivid detail to anyone who asked about it. Until now, if someone had asked for me to tell them about her room, I’d bring up the Anticipation Rising posters that had been thumb tacked into her walls. I would’ve said I thought she had an animal print comforter and that’s all I’d be able to recall. It’s just now occurring to me how much she knows about my personal space and how little I know about hers.

Now there isn’t a single poster in sight. Her comforter is a pale pink. She has abstract prints on her walls and shelves lined with books and personal items. None of that really catches my attention. Not when I notice the boxes lined up on one of the walls.

It feels like a punch to the gut, another reminder of how much she wants to get away from this small town.

I have to immediately look away from the moving boxes before I let it ruin our night together. I already ran my mouth when we were in the kitchen when I shouldn’t have. It feels like we’re walking on thin ice now. I can’t take my words back. I can’t un-ask what happens to us when she leaves.

What Icando is make the most of the time we have together until then.

“What are you thinking?” Mare asks, taking a seat at the edge of her bed.

“I was thinking how you’ve been in my room—in my bed—so many times, but I hadn’t stepped foot in yours in years.”

Her eyes scan the room as if she’s looking at her own space with new eyes. I look to the side of the room that’s caught her eye. Letting out a breath, I walk to the spot that’s captured her attention. Right next to a stack of papers that look like what might be pages of whatever she’s currently writing, there’s a picture frame with a photo of Mare, Pippa, and me. Except Pippa isn’t really in it. Her face is blurry and half of her body is cut out of it.

It’s mostly a photo of just Mare and me. We’re riding the ski lift at one of our local slopes. She’d pulled out her phone wanting a selfie but Pippa had been too busy complaining about how cold her cheeks were so she’d missed the photo. I’d been caught off guard by Mare pulling out her phone. I think if I remember correctly, I’d also been scolding her that she was going to drop it. It doesn’t matter. In the photo Mare stares at the camera, her cheeks bright red from the wind with a huge smile on her face. My eyes aren’t on the camera, they’re on her. My smile is as wide as hers.

It’s weird to look back at some of our memories together and see them with fresh eyes. Even though the picture was taken close to two years ago, I wonder if I felt something more for her back then and I just didn’t know it. The way I look at her in this picture, it’s hard to imagine I didn’t. Maybe something has always been there, it just needed time to come to the forefront of my mind and heart.

Mare wraps her hands around my middle, squeezing me from the back as she tucks her head underneath my arm. “It’s one of my favorite pictures.”

“I didn’t even remember that you took it.” I’m struck by an overwhelming feeling that I can’t describe. It’s like that photo helped me realize how deep the feelings I have for her really run and how long they’ve been there, just waiting to be addressed.

“I forgot about it at first, but one night I was flipping through my phone’s camera roll when I saw it. I knew I wanted to frame it immediately.”

“I’m shocked Pippa hasn’t complained about not really being in it.”

Mare shrugs underneath my arm. “Oh, she hasn’t noticed. She’d be pissed if I framed anything that didn’t have her as the center of attention.”

I chuckle. That’s my sister. She demands all the attention and doesn’t want to accept anything less. It’s always worked out well for us. She wants all the attention when I want none of it. We were a perfect pair, even with the few years of an age difference between us.

Turning around, I grab Mare’s arms and wrap them around my neck. I pull her small frame into me, wrapping mine around her back.

“I like your room, Goldie. Want to show me your bed?”

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